


Tulips

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bath Sex, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://johncroftianlullaby.tumblr.com/post/36791962147/winter-drawing-writing-challenge">Winter Writing/Drawing Challenge</a> Day 14 - Hot Baths</p><p>All Mycroft wants to do is relax.</p><p>Rated X/NC-17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tulips

"No, not now," Mycroft said. "I'm relaxing tonight."

"Doing what?" scoffed Sherlock.

Mycroft closed his eyes for a brief moment. He just wanted to be alone, to unwind from the hurried insanity of his position. It had been a very long day and he hadn't the strength to put up with Sherlock's insistence and resistence and assistance, just wanted the oblivion of a good book and a good soak.

"You can guess, I'm sure," Mycroft said, letting his eyes open again. A headache was present and ready to worsen. He rubbed at his eyes.

"I'm coming over."

"Don't." If he did, surely Mycroft would find himself pressured into doing little things for Sherlock in his own home, surely he'd find himself put to use like some workhorse when he just, for once, wanted to be the cat atop the pillow. If Sherlock joined him, his muscles would all tense again, and his stomach would knot and...no. Just, no. "No."

Sherlock paused on the other line. It was a long pause, filling Mycroft with a quiet and resigned sort of dread as he waited. And then, "Disarm the security system, won't you?"

A long, low, undignified sighing groan escaped Mycroft and fell into the receiver for Sherlock to hear and Sherlock hung up and Mycroft really didn't wish to call him back, so he put in the code with bitter punches of his fingertips and glared at the keypad and went up to his room to start unfastening the rest of his clothes.

He wasn't going to play along with Sherlock, not tonight. Tonight was still going to be about a nice bath and a nice bit of reading. He'd well earned it!

The sound of the splashing, flowing water soothed him as he adjusted the temperature and allowed the tub to begin to fill. A large tub, heated tiles, a stack of towels, his robe, not to mention the book sitting within arm's reach: All was as it should be.

Mycroft dimmed the lights pleasantly, letting the sound of the water rule the room as he quietly managed to put the bubbling soap in, inhaling the soft scents of aloe and lavender. He turned to the book where it sat quiescent. "Sherlock's coming," he said. "Sorry."

The book said nothing back, of course, but it was only fair to warn it that he might not be finishing before Sherlock poked his sweet little nose into things.

Mycroft settled into the filled and bubbling tub, shutting off the tap. He briefly wondered if he shouldn't have turned on some music, just quietly, just to help with the ambiance, when he chuckled once, softly, laughing at himself. 

"He does this to me," he told the stoic looking man on the cover of the book he'd not yet reached for. "It's my night to relax, and here I am imagining whether or not he'd appreciate some light music in the background. I've looked after him much too long."

Mycroft sighed, focusing on letting the warmth of the water work its silent magic on his natural tenseness. He didn't register dozing off, but when he opened his eyes again, the water was cooler than it had been and the doorway was wide open as Sherlock smugly enjoyed the sight.

"Shut that now, or go," Mycroft said.

Quickly, Sherlock obeyed, resting against the closed door. He chewed at his lip uncertainly.

"Yes, it's okay you're here. Nothing I can do about it, really," Mycroft said dryly. His hand rose from the tub with a splash and he gestured Sherlock closer. "You can join me, but I'm not joining you. This is what's on the agenda."

"You had a bad day," Sherlock said quietly, undoing his scarf with a flourish, unbuttoning that old familiar coat bit by bit like an absentminded striptease. Absentminded due to his fascination with the sight of a naked Mycroft who seemed caught between being languid and anticipatory.

"Chop chop," Mycroft said. Then, his face softened. "Yes, I did," he said. "I had a bad day. I'm in no mood to entertain, I hope you understand, but...we could just," he shrugged. "We could just... _be_." He glanced up hopefully.

Sherlock smirked and started to strip in earnest. "Until I get bored anyway," he pointed out.

"I'm naked, and you think you'll be bored?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock grinned to himself and did away with his shirt.

"Very nice," praised Mycroft.

"Oh, shut up." Sherlock chuckled and flushed a little right down to his chest.

"I won't. Tonight's my night." Mycroft stretched a little and then shifted to his side, giving Sherlock a once over as he finished stripping.

"How interesting," Sherlock said.

"Mm. What is?"

"When I came in, you weren't interested in anything except a nice, relaxing bath. Now, however, it seems you'd appreciate...more."

"We hardly ever do...more," Mycroft pointed out.

"But you'd like to." Sherlock smirked.

"Oh god, yes," Mycroft said in a whisper, not daring to speak louder lest he jinx the whole thing. 

"It's so funny. You weren't interested when I came in, you really weren't. And then, I don't know, maybe it was the undressing. Maybe it's the relaxation. But you're thinking about it now; I know you are. You'd like me to—"

"Shhh," Mycroft urged.

"You'd like me to get you off," Sherlock said, heedless of Mycroft's reluctance for him to say it. "You'd appreciate it if I gave your bad day a happy ending."

"Do shut up," Mycroft said with just the barest quirk of amusement in his lip and amusement helplessly dancing in eyes that struggled to look even a bit upset.

"Admit it. You'd have had fun alone, of course, reclusive thing you are." Mycroft brows shot right up at that. "But you prefer me here. Sometimes, anyway," Sherlock quickly added, looking a bit awkward as he realized his statement may not have been true after all.

"Yes, sometimes I do," Mycroft confirmed. "Get in here, why don't you?" Sherlock stepped closer and Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, your pants."

"Oh!" Sherlock quickly shirked his pants and slunk into the tub behind Mycroft, coaxing his brother to rest back against him comfortably. 

Mycroft got settled, letting his eyes close as Sherlock ran his hands along his arms, down his chest and stomach, along his thighs, re-familiarizing himself with the territory. 

"I always thought this tub was too extravagant," Sherlock admitted, "but it seems just the thing right now, doesn't it?" 

Mycroft looked back at Sherlock, shifting a little to do so, the warm water making way then greeting his skin again. "It's a little extravagant, yes." He paused for dramatic effect, smirking. "But then," he said, "you of all people know that I like to indulge in things I shouldn't."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, his hand finding Mycroft's hip and caressing it for a moment before trailing fingertips teasingly inward. On Mycroft's intake of breath, Sherlock's fingers walked back to the hip, stratching it lightly with blunt nails.

"Will you really?" Mycroft asked in expectation, trying to twist to look at Sherlock a bit more. Sherlock hugged Mycroft close with both arms, pressing a kiss to his lips that took his breath away again. 

"Yes, Brother Dear," Sherlock purred. "I'm willing. You'd like me to?"

Mycroft shifted around completely, resting his knees on either side of Sherlock's thighs as he knelt up. "Only if you don't mind," he said, reaching up to run a damp hand through Sherlock's dark, dry curls. 

"Mind? It's not like it's some chore. And I know that look," he said with a sigh as his brother's eyes darted away and the hand started to slip from his hair. He reached up and held the hand in his hair. "I'm yours, Mycroft."

Mycroft slowly glanced up again.

"I want you to kiss me like you'd like, I'd like to get you off because you're worth it, honestly. Sometimes...I mean, not often." Sherlock swallowed. "Mycroft, sometimes I even...touch myself."

Mycroft blinked in surprise. "But, er," he said, trying for politeness. "I thought...."

"It's not often, but, yes, I do it when I find it necessary. And I like to think about you, when I need to think about something. I think about you, squirming, moaning." Mycroft flinched and looked away. The hand slid from Sherlock's hair and down into the tub.

Sherlock cupped Mycroft's cheek. "Don't be ridiculous, Mycroft," he said. Mycroft glanced up. "I'm not making fun. Really, I'm not. Think before you get all shame-filled and reticent. Think, would you?"

Mycroft sheepishly smiled. "Sorry, dear."

"Apology accepted." He stroked Mycroft's cheek. "Now, as I was saying, I like seeing you squirm, and I like when you gasp, and when your lips part, and when you lick them—yes, like that! Very good!" he praised. Mycroft hadn't been able to help it, of course, what with the way Sherlock's deep voice rumbled out filthy things about himself that embarrassed and thrilled him.

Sherlock cupped Mycroft's chin firmly, and he eased him forward for a kiss. Mycroft braced his hands on the tub on either side of Sherlock and gave himself over to it, licking his lips again before their mouths met, soft and bowed like tulips in the wind. Kissing Sherlock instilled a sort of quiet passion in Mycroft that slowly spread throughout his entire being systematically and overthrew his sanity, not that he had much of that left where Sherlock was concerned.

Sometimes, Sherlock used lots of teeth to arouse and tugged at his brother's hair and tried to claim what he already owned, and sometimes he kissed softly and carefully with tricks and coaxing and overwhelming delibaration like Mycroft still needed convincing.

Mycroft pressed closer as they kissed, mouths refitting and lips sucking, until his need was meeting Sherlock's stomach under the cover of the still-warm water. He shifted with a little kiss-bound sigh, and Sherlock gripped his arse and made his breath stutter.

Sherlock rather liked Mycroft's arse, particularly the grabbing of it and the pinching of it and the chance he often had of giving it unexpected smacks just for the thrill, and that all suited Mycroft in a breathless way they tried not to really get into. 

Sherlock rested his thumbs on Mycroft's hips and curled his fingers punishingly into the flesh of Mycroft's backside, saying, "I can feel the heat of you," with a wicked smile. "You're jumping against my stomach. Should I do something about that?"

"Yesss," Mycroft hissed pleasantly, letting his eyes close as he ground against Sherlock's stomach and felt the hands dig in just a bit more.

"Here in the bath? Or on the bed?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Here." He cracked his eyes open to see if Sherlock was going to call him anything, and he closed his eyes again when he guessed that he was.

"This is a bit embarrassing, wouldn't you say? Rubbing against your own brother?"

"Sherlock, not tonight," Mycroft said, stilling against Sherlock. 

Sherlock's hands released their prize so he could embrace his brother. "Shh," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I'll be good."

"Thank you," Mycroft said with a sigh. "It's just...today."

"Right. Of course. Turn. Sit in front of me."

Mycroft sat in front of Sherlock again, leaning back against him once more, letting Sherlock explore his arms and thighs and chest and stomach again, and biting his lip gently when those two expansive hands reached for him beneath the water. "Tonight, relax and just let me do it," Sherlock said warmly, curling his hand firmly around Mycroft and giving an experimental tug. His brother went more slack in his arms and gave a soft sound of appreciation.

"I really don't mind this, you know," Sherlock said, voice thoughtful against the backdrop of the water's rhythmic displacement and settling.

"Mm?" Mycroft purred and rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's shoulder.

"I mean, we're...boyfriends?"

Mycroft made a disapproving sort of noise, so Sherlock took a moment to employ some of his better stroking and twisting tricks until his brother shuddered and squirmed in pleasure. 

"We...are," Sherlock declared with only slightly more confidence. "And you're...I mean, it's good. For both of us. So don't get all...I don't know, bent out of shape about poor little Sherlock with his unused erection," he said, getting a bit rough in his bitterness.

"Sherlock!"

"Sorry," Sherlock murmured.

"I don't think of you like that," Mycroft protested in a sort of pout.

"No, probably not. Sorry." Sherlock kissed at his ear, whispering, "Sorry. Don't lose interest." It didn't take long for him to have his brother at his tenuous mercy again.

"Careful with the squirming," he warned. "You'll displace water."

Mycroft parted his thighs a bit more, pressing forward into the touch. He was tensed up again, nearing release, badly desiring it. 

"You feel so good," praised Sherlock. "Really."

With a gasp and a beautiful sort of keen, Mycroft twitched, not just his handled cock, but his shifting hips, his bitten lips, the hand on his thigh and the one on the edge of the tub, as he spilled for Sherlock.

Resting only for a moment in the water that was losing warmth and, also, its claims to cleanliness, Sherlock nudged at Mycroft, who groaned.

"No."

"Get the plug."

"Just let me relax for a minute, Sherlock!"

"We'll relax in the bed. Up." Sherlock nudged him again.

Feeling as if his limbs were slow and stupid and would never go back to the way they usually had functioned, Mycroft made himself lean up and forward and down and fish for the plug. He sat in the draining tub and turned to glare over his shoulder as if to say, "There, are you happy?" And Sherlock, the self-satisfied bad influence, was.

Sherlock slunk out of the tub in a liquid fashion Mycroft found both attractive and distracting as he watched Sherlock pick up the towels and offer him a hand up. Sherlock dried him, to his surprise, dried him and even held out his robe for him. He watched Sherlock dry himself off as he tied the belt into a precise bow.

"Would you call that a happy ending?"

Mycroft stepped forward and grasped Sherlock, embracing him. "We'll fetch you some pyjamas," he said, pulling away, taking Sherlock's hand, leading him out into the bedroom, which was much cooler than the air in the bathroom had been. Sherlock shivered as Mycroft found him pyjamas to slip into. 

"I never said I was staying," Sherlock pointed out.

"You want to make sure we understand each other. This might take talking tonight and talking in the morning, once we've slept on it," Mycroft pointed out. 

"And you'll make me breakfast?"

"Of course."

Sherlock slipped the shirt on over his head. "That's acceptable," he said, voice muffled inside the fabric as he struggled to get it on. Finally, his curly head of hair poked out and he took the pair of pants Mycroft offered him. 

"You're totally my boyfriend," Sherlock pointed out. "I mean, I'm not trying to be cute or anything," he said with a wince. "It's just...the facts."

Mycroft stared at the pyjama trousers still in his hands. "I'll get back to you on that in the morning," he said.

Sherlock took the trousers from him and laughed, resting a hand on Mycroft to support himself as he stepped into them. "I know what we should do now," he said.

With nothing left to stare at, Mycroft made hesitant eye contact. "And what's that?"

"Read to me."

Mycroft tried to figure out whether Sherlock was having him on or not. Sherlock let him think about it as he went searching for a pair of pants to make Mycroft put on. He decided on a dark blue pair. He'd mentioned before that he didn't understand the need for colored pants, even if it was just a few of them. Mycroft just shrugged and hadn't had anything to say in defense of them, which had curiously made Sherlock appreciate them.

"Your biography will do. I'll fetch it," he said, handing the pants to Mycroft. He returned with the book just in time to get a good glimpse of Mycroft's shapely arse.

"I love sleepovers," Sherlock commented with a filthy leer. "Read me a story, brother."

Mycroft yawned. "Maybe you should instead," he said just as Sherlock said, "Maybe I'll do it, actually." Then, they grinned.


End file.
